And I am worried about Uncle Sennie. Grandmum told me how distraught he was, and I suppose I noted it but thought he was getting over the Melkor thing and just needed a little time, but I realise now, it's more than that. Though I am really not quite sure what it is, actually. And he seems to think he needs to go away. I should remind Tiger about the cottage up on Lake Evedrim . . . maybe a romantic weekend there would help? I miss his enthusiams--his writings and paintings and stories--he doesn't do any of that anymore--I should have realized from that something was very wrong. But I suppose it's something he is going to have to figure out for himself.
Ivy, on the other hand, seems to have settled into our little smialhold nicely, which is lovely to see. Melba's been a bit mopey though . . . I think she has concluded Primula is not going to return her ardent feelings, and I can not say I see any hope of it myself. Primula has been keeping quite to herself of late as well. But Essy has stayed on with us for now, who has been quite a welcome addition to our abode.
The sky has been quite an unusual shade lately. Rather delightful actually. But my imagination keeps going back to a place in my memory that is just begging to be given new substance. And it doesn't want to be ignored, but that's just what I am going to do. And keep doing. For now.